"She" is a shadow bereft of form, "He" is a whispy cloud whose shape and consistency are determined by the grace of "Her" coldness and breezes. "It" is a memory, an insult, a gleam. Then there's a Hero, a bastard, a twot. Truth and beauty form a silent witness. Hope is on her death bed. Jesus Christ is the Lord.
He: Why do I have to be amorphous?
She: Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of your being.
He: What's the difference between realism and naturalism?
She: The unreal can’t be natural but the unnatural can be real.
He: Who are you?
She: Who are you?
He: I am the world and the world is me.
She: Who are you?
He: I’m your stalker. Your magnet, your callow voyeur and wishful antipath.
She blows him. He snows.
She: I blew you.
He: I snowed.
She. I knew you.
He: I am the distillation of your malice.
She: You are the daughter of air and water.
He: You need me. I cast you out.
She: I need you.
He: Waste me. Like a nighttime.
She: Imbue me like the moon does the woof of your tent.
He: The more light prevails upon you the more intense and impenetrably your darkness becomes.
She: I am black as the heart of a diamond. I am the rainbow locked in a vault. I am a wave and a beam and a consequence. I am a cobweb woven from the night.
He: Do your husbands get stuck in your web? Do you eat their hearts out like Rosewicz's fly?
She: Not even if they fuck my best friend.
He: Not even if they run away with the lead singer in the band. Like my wife, she ran away with my best friend. God I miss him.
Truth looks up from the deathbed of hope. Truth looks at "He" with a mask of kabuki sadness.
He: Uncalled for.
She: Old.
Hope radiates with a fading shine.
Beauty pales beside her.
Enter bastard, hands in pockets.
Bastard: Why don't they just get rid of her? The old lady? There's no hope left for her. She must be 93 if she's a day. Why don't they just put her lights out and have done with it?
She: She's our only hope.
He: Hope is the last thing to die.
Bastard: Who's going to inherit her title?
She: When she goes, Hope goes with her.
Truth looks coldly at the cloud. "He" rumbles ominously.
Bastard: I'm not staying here to get soaked. Leave her. She's had her time. You gotta be cruel to be kind.
Bastard exits.
He: The old hath suffered the most.
Hero comes along, dancing and waving her phone torch.
Hero: (Singing) Young dynamic people, la la la la la la la!
Truth smiles. Hope shines. Beauty weeps.
He: Let's waste the night together.
She: Let's.
She blows him. He snows.
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